


Fire

by spinner33



Series: CM - AU [10]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: AU, Amnesia, Discussion of Abusive Non-Con, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 03:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5114552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Hotch Hearts Reid Prompt Meme: Reid has been missing for three years when he turns up in North Carolina, with no memory before three years ago, and a missing wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing that struck Deputy Grimshaw was how frightened the man before her looked. He walked into the front door of her police station, looking lost and scared. He had a very youthful face and large brown eyes. His long hands trembled nervously, and he seemed as thin and tall as a shadow.

“Can I help you? Have a seat. Tell me what’s wrong,” she said, standing up from her desk and motioning to the chair against the wall.

“I’m looking for Moira,” he whispered, eyes on the ground.

“I can help you,” Grimshaw replied. She darted her head up to locate her fellow junior officer in this small, North Carolina town.

Deputy Gray was perched on the edge of his chair, staring back. He lifted a brow and hid a smile. He didn’t mind that this had fallen to Grimshaw, because he had a feeling this was going to be complicated. The last thing Garfield Gray wanted at 4 pm on a Friday night was a complicated mess being dropped into his lap. The sheriff was on vacation this week – he had gone up into the mountains in western North Carolina as most people from the beaches did to get away—and he wouldn’t be back until next week. Although Grimshaw outranked Gray with about two weeks of seniority, the police station was ruled by democracy while the head honcho was away. It didn't hurt that the two of them were well on their way from casually-dating to really-seriously-dating. They would probably be married inside of two years, unless of course Grimshaw decided she wanted to take the sergeants exam, which would mean marriage in about three years. No hurry. 

“Take the break room,” Gray suggested.

Grimshaw agreed with a nod. She wasn’t surprised the young man had come to her instead of Gray. People trusted Peg. She had a helpful and courteous manner about her, always important in a police officer, but especially important in a small town where everyone was like family, and they needed to feel they could trust you. People Peg had never met trusted her automatically, usually because she reminded them of a friend, a neighbor, a sister, a mother.

Peg walked the young man into the break room, motioned for him to sit down in front of the bank of vending machines. He coiled up with his feet in his seat, and put his arms around his knees, rounding his shoulders.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Grimshaw said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He pulled back from the touch. 

“What’s your name? Where are you from?”

He gave a quick smirk that died in a mask of pain and concern. 

“What’s your name?” Peg asked.

“She calls me Matthew, but that’s not who I am.” 

“Who is she?”

“My wife.”

“What do you want me to call you?” 

“Doctor.”

“Are you a doctor?” 

“I’m not sure.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Peg suggested.

“If I asked you to take my fingerprints and my picture and search your database, would you be able to do that?”

“I’ll be happy to, certainly. Why would you want me to?”

“I’m afraid you might be searching for me.” 

“I need you to start at the beginning.” 

“Moira didn’t come home last night.”

“Who didn’t?” 

“My wife Moira.”

“So your wife is missing?”

“Yes, but she might have left on purpose.” 

“What’s her full name?”

“Moira McPherson.”

“Mr. McPherson, why would Moira disappear?”

“Because she’s angry at me,” he whispered, hanging his head. “I told her.”

“What did you tell her?” 

“About my dreams.”

“Tell me about your dreams. Are they good dreams?” Peg tried so hard to get the young man to open up to her. Usually she didn’t have to work at all to get people to spill their hearts to her.

Garfield Gray had been listening from the other room. He had quietly appeared at the open door to the break room. Clearly he was more intrigued by the minute. Peg only felt more ill and nervous. That feeling was about to get much worse.

“I see corpses. Dead people. Lots of them. Murdered. Dismembered. Bloody. Men, women, children. They’re filed away here,” the young man said, tapping his temple. “Literally filed. I dream about brown folders with this emblem on the front of it. I know details. I know facts. I know all about these dead people. I know what’s been done to them. I shouldn’t know this, right? I mean, I wouldn’t know this unless….unless I’m the one who did these things?”

“You’re afraid Moira left because you told her about these dreams?” Peg asked.

“Yes.”

“Where does Moira work? Deputy Gray could check on her. Maybe she’s running late?” Peg offered a simple suggestion.

“She works for Beach Front Realty. That’s in Salter Path.” 

“Is that where you live?”

“We live between Atlantic Beach and Salter Path.” 

“What do you do?”

“I stay at home,” he answered, cocking his head at her as if the question had been a strange one. “I’m not supposed to leave the house without Moira, but she didn’t come home last night, and she didn't come home tonight, and I’m worried.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry. You did the right thing, coming to us. Garfield is going to go check on Moira, and in the meantime, let me get your prints. We’ll put them in the system and see what comes back. Will that make you feel better?”

Yes,” he nodded, shivering again. “Did I really do the right thing?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Coming here? Did I do the right thing?” 

“I’m sure you did,” Grimshaw reassured him.

“I’m not supposed to leave the house when Moira’s not there, but I was worried. She’ll understand, won’t she? Do you think she’ll be angry with me?”

Peg’s skin prickled with goosebumps, and her smile faltered. He was cowering at the very idea that Moira would be angry at him, and Peg didn’t like that one bit.

“Why aren’t you supposed to leave the house without Moira?”

“I had an accident three years ago. I lost my memory. I haven’t been the same since. Moira doesn’t want me to get hurt or lost, so she doesn’t want me to leave the house without her.”

“Wait for me here,” Grimshaw said. Peg went into the outer room and closed the break room door.

“Are you okay being alone with him?” Garfield asked. “Maybe I should put him in the cell, and you should go check on Mrs. McPherson and make sure she’s not dead in a hole in their back yard?”

“You go. I’m fine. But be careful, Tomcat. There is something funny going on here.”

“I hear you,” Garfield agreed. “You better get your gun out of your desk drawer.”


	2. Chapter 2

Morgan looked up from his computer monitor and caught Prentiss’s eyes. She was standing just outside the bank of elevators, her face a pale, greenish color. She was anxious, nervous even.

“Morgan, you got a second?” Prentiss called out.

“Sure,” he smiled. Emily tipped her chin towards the elevator bank. Morgan got up and went to her.

“Something up?” Torgeson asked, scooting back in his chair and following them hungrily with his bright blue eyes. As the newest member of the team, he was so eager to be useful that he was usually annoying. He had been there eighteen months, and had yet to feel fully accepted. It’s hard to replace a colleague and a friend, even harder when you feel you don’t measure up to the man whose shoes you were asked to fill.

“No, Torg. Finish your report. I’ll be back in a sec,” Morgan promised.

Prentiss nodded and waved at Torgeson, and then dragged Morgan onto the elevator. They went up to the lobby and went out to the quad between the buildings of the campus. Summer was in full swing outside.

“You wanna make plans for the weekend?” Morgan asked Emily, taking a deep breath of fresh air and sunshine.

“Morgan, I got a call from North Carolina. Atlantic Beach. It’s on the Outer Banks,” Emily stammered.

“I know where it is,” Morgan replied impatiently.

“They need us down there at once, but on the sly, not through official channels.”

“Why didn’t they send their request through JJ?”

“It’s complicated. One of the deputies is an old friend of mine, Garfield Gray. That’s why he called me instead of JJ. We could tell JJ, but I’m afraid she would go straight to Hotch.”

“Why don’t we want to tell Hotch about this?” 

“Morgan, Garfield called to tell me they found Reid.”

Morgan gasped loudly. He took one look at Emily, grabbed her arm, and dragged her back inside the building. He did not let go of her arm, not on the elevator, back to the bullpen, or even until they were right inside Hotch’s office. Prentiss glared at Morgan, and literally yanked her arm from his grip. Hotch looked up at both of them, standing in front of his desk, silently glaring at each other.

Now that they were here, Morgan was regretting being so rash. He should have asked one important question first – had Garfield Gray found Spencer Reid alive or dead? Derek would really rather have known which one it was first before he broke this news to Hotch. So he merely looked to Prentiss for help. She rolled her eyes at him and shot him the dirtiest glare.

“Can I help you two?” Hotch asked with dark humor tracing his worn face.

Prentiss cleared her throat, and launched into the tale.


	3. Chapter 3

The atmosphere was grim and quiet in the sleek, black SUV with federal plates as it was bouncing along Highway 70. Summer night was falling, and the air was filled with warmth and nature noises. No one wanted to talk, but Prentiss knew she had to be the first to do so.

“It’s been three years, Hotch. This might be a goose chase,” Emily offered.

Aaron didn’t reply. He was staring out the windshield as he drove, his face a mask of dark thoughts and emotions. His mind was three years and a million miles away.

The team had last seen Dr. Spencer Reid on March 3, 2012. They had been in Montpelier, Vermont, on the trail of a serial killer who was kidnapping young men and holding them as unwilling companions. By means of drugs and physical abuse and psychological control methods, this killer had taken complete control of the victims, kidnapping them, controlling them, erasing their identities and giving them new ones. The killer was keeping them, at least until such time as boredom set in, and the killer craved a new victim. Then the young men turned up dead.

There had been four victims when the BAU had finally been called in. The young men who had gone missing from various parts of the country, and had remained missing for anywhere from one to four years. The team had been able to build a preliminary profile from the victimology. They desperately needed more evidence, but the only way to get more evidence was to find another victim, which they knew wasn’t going to happen soon.

They had been waiting for tests to come back from the state crime labs on the curious tattoos that all four victims had had—a phoenix, red and gold, about the size of a quarter, on the upper left shoulder blade. This seemed like such a specific signature that Reid hoped analyzing the tattoos—the ink, the needles used, the design, something – would yield a better understanding of the killer. Why this design? Why this emblem? What did the mythological symbolism of the phoenix have to do with their killer?

The last time Hotch had seen Reid, the young doctor was sitting in the Montpelier Police Station, poring over case files and reviewing the statements of witnesses that had been interviewed in connection with the victims. Aaron and Spencer had been sharing lunch, splitting sandwiches and chips from the vending machines.

Hotch smiled faintly to himself as he remembered Reid diving into half of an egg salad sandwich while rooting around in Hotch’s bag of chips with those long fingers. They had had a minimal breakfast and it was well after three. Reid had been positively starving.

“Let’s go over this again,” Hotch said. “Tell me the significance of the phoenix.”

“In mythology, it’s a symbol of renewal, rebirth, being reborn from fire and ashes. Being cleansed by flame. Being tested and having passed the test to emerge stronger.”

"Does that give us a cultural group to focus on?”

“Not really. There are phoenix myths in almost all cultures, from Asia, Russia, the Middle East. Harry Potter,” Reid smiled, crunching noisily. Hotch replied a smile of his own, and rolled his eyes skyward. “Don’t discount the impact of modern literature on the human psyche. While one might be aware of the past references and cultural history of an object or a creature, it is just as likely that a modern, recent reference will have impacted the killer as much as a Greek mythology class they had in junior high twenty-five years ago.”

“You’ve decided on an age range. What makes you think the killer is in his or her late thirties or early forties?”

Reid continued munching, his brows working up and down, eyes squinting. He spoke again once he took a sip of soda.

“The age of the victims is consistently between twenty and twenty five. That’s so narrow. We can agree that it’s a sexual attraction as well as a psychological one. This killer is excited at the prospect of taking a young man and making him over in the manner which they most desire— subservient, malleable, obedient.”

They exchanged a quick, meaningful glance, both able to appreciate the humor of the situation. Hotch straightened his tie and grinned to himself as Reid pushed his hair back out of his twinkling eyes. Some things were better left unspoken, like when you notice that you might have a lot in common with the sicko you’re profiling. Or when your illicit relationship with your much-younger co-worker mirrors the one the killer desires with their victims.

“It’s easier to control someone younger than you are, but the killer is not choosing someone so young that they would be sexually inappropriate. That leads me to believe that the killer wants to blend in,” Reid said. “If the victims are being held for as long as four years, together as one unit, the killer and the victim have got to blend in with their surroundings – be as vanilla as suburbia. This is your neighbor, your friend, your soccer coach, something.”

“So, there are two questions that come to mind,” Hotch continued, picking up the other half of the egg salad sandwich, grimacing, but taking a bite anyway.

“Two? I can think of several! Who is the killer recreating? What significance does this person have to the life of the killer? Is our killer male or female? What significance does the phoenix tattoo have? Jeremy Ferrell had no tattoos, according to his mother. He would never have willingly gotten a tattoo, so we have to assume then that the killer is the one who is putting the tattoos on the victims, or commissioning someone else to put these specific tattoos on these specific young men,” Reid rambled.

“Why?” Hotch asked. Reid shook his head. “Guess,” Aaron urged, giving Reid the rest of the bag of chips. “What does the phoenix mean to our killer?”

“Red and gold. Fire. Rebirth. Trial by fire. Tested by fire. Immortality. Rejuvenation. A mark to signify they belong to him or her? The killer’s name? The killer’s identity? The killer’s hair color – maybe they have red hair and they think of themselves as a phoenix?”

“Is our killer is a fire-fighter?”

“No,” Reid decided. “Why not?”

“Time intensive job. Hero job. Not the sort who would…you know….have the time or the inclination to hold a person captive and completely erase their personality and give them a new one. I can’t see it. I mean, when fire fighters go off the quad, they use fire, arson, emollition.”

“In what other jobs does fire play a significant role?”

“We can’t concentrate on the fire alone. Maybe it’s not the fire, but the rebirth here. Remaking someone.”

“Why not focus on the fire?”

“Because none of the victims was burned in any way.” 

“What does that have to do with it?”

“If fire were the focus, a love of fire, a desire to burn someone, I would expect fire to be the method of control, the method of punishment.”

“I like the fire fighter angle. There is something not right about someone willing to run into a burning building for a living. You have to start out crazy to want to do that,” Hotch growled, stealing a sip of soda from Reid’s soda bottle before giving it back to him.

“I’d like to re-interview one or two of these witnesses. I’ll even look for fire fighters among them. Would that be okay?” Spencer asked as Hotch stood up and stretched.

“Give me a call if you find anything,” Aaron said, taking a moment at the doorway of the police station to turn around. He watched as Reid was stretching too. Hotch admired that long, lean body. He couldn’t wait until tonight, when they might get a few minutes alone together. Hotch watched Reid gather up his notes and files and stuff them into his light brown leather satchel. Spencer felt Aaron watching him. He glanced up, caught his eyes, and smiled warmly at him.

The satchel was the only thing the team ever found of Reid. After two weeks of searching, Reid’s bag had been recovered along Interstate 89. His files and notes and personal items were mostly intact, but Dr. Spencer Reid was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

When the team pulled up outside the police station in Atlantic Beach, Garfield Gray was waiting for them. He was leaning against his cruiser, all long legs and dark hair and sexy smile. Derek hated him already. Morgan looked at Prentiss, who was smiling and shaking her head.

"Tomcat!” she called out as she exited the vehicle.

“Hey, Em!” Garfield replied. They exchanged a warm hug. Morgan wanted to pump the handsome Gray full of bullets, for no reason other than he was holding onto Prentiss. It's not like Morgan and Prentiss were officially an item, or officially a couple, or officially anything. It just didn't sit well with Morgan that this handsome stranger felt it was all right to throw a hug like that around Emily Prentiss.

“Look at you,” Emily found a chuckle. “How many years has it been?”

“Thirty,” Garfield grinned at her. Prentiss winced and put a hand over her heart.

“Thirty?” she breathed. “Oh fu….” She winced again, shaking her head.

“You two friends?” Morgan asked, coming over to Prentiss’s side. Hotch was headed straight to the door. Gray took his arm and stopped him.

“Wait,” Garfield said. Emily made brief introductions.

“Agent Aaron Hotchner. Agent Derek Morgan. Deputy Garfield Gray. Tomcat.”

“Nice to meet you, Deputy Gray. Where’s Dr. Reid?” Hotch asked. 

“I need to talk to you before you go in there,” Gray insisted.

“Where’s Reid?” Hotch said, his dark eyes standing off his pale features with an intensity that scared Derek and Emily back to seriousness. 

“Deputy Grimshaw is with him. Don’t worry. He’s in good hands.” 

“How is he?”

“Confused. Afraid.”

“Is he hurt?” Hotch got the words out without sobbing, but only barely.

“Near as we can tell, not physically, not much, not recently. But it’s not like I could do a full body cavity search, if you know what I mean.”

“What aren’t you telling us?” Prentiss asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. Garfield rubbed the cleft in his chin with the back of one thumb and pursed his lips.

“Moira McPherson is missing. Her husband, Matthew McPherson walked into this station house at 4:00 p.m. to tell us that his wife had not come home from work last night, and she hadn’t shown up tonight either, and that he was worried about her. He was afraid she had left him because he told her about horrible dreams he had been having, dreams about corpses and bodies and dead people and details about how they had all died.”

Hotch allowed Deputy Gray to pull him away from the door to the police station and back towards the cruiser. Prentiss and Morgan stood a little closer as well as Gray continued, lowering his voice.

“While he was here talking to Peg, I drove over to the McPherson house. I kept my radio open the whole time so I could hear what they were talking about and also hear Peg if she needed help. There’s no sign of Mrs.McPherson anywhere—her car is gone, her purse, her keys, her cell phone. I walked through the house-- no Moira and nothing out of the ordinary. I checked her route to work in Salter Path. She makes a good living in real estate. He stays at home. I didn’t see her car anywhere along the route. It’s not a long route. She’s not there.”

“Go on,” Prentiss urged when Garfield looked to her for direction. 

“All the while, I’m listening to Peg and him talk. He’s worried at Moira. Where’s Moira? What’s happened to Moira? What’s he going to do without Moira? It’s like his mother is missing, not his wife. He doesn’t know what to do without her there to tell him.” 

Hotch shuddered and Gray continued.

“Peg is great with people—she’s a people person. He’s in good hands. Don’t worry. Anyhow, I got back here as fast as I could. Peg ran Mr. McPherson’s prints through the system, and the search results came back with red lights flashing and a full-tilt warning. I called Emily at once when we realized that we had one of your missing agents on our hands.”

“Why not go through proper channels?” Hotch asked.

“Something is not right here. He's not acting right. It's like he's drugged up, high, on something. He's not acting right. I wanted advice. I know Emily from years ago, knew from my father that she worked at the FBI, so I called her,” Garfield smiled at Prentiss.

Morgan and Hotch frowned in concert. Derek even bristled. Emily decided she had better explain before they got the wrong idea.

“I used to babysit Tomcat when his dad was stationed in Italy. He was eight years old,” she stressed, giving Morgan a frown in reply to his sour expression. Gray grinned at their exchange and rubbed his chin again.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. What I’m trying to tell you is that Mrs. McPherson is missing, and Mr. McPherson is not right in the head. We need to be careful how we interrogate him.”

“Enough of these delays. I want to see Reid. I want to talk to him. I want to take him home where he belongs,” Hotch said, his heart in his throat.

“Agent Hotchner, you can’t do that yet,” Garfield said. 

“What?” Hotch bellowed.

“I’m sorry, Agent Hotchner. But that man in there, whoever the hell he really is, might be responsible for the disappearance of Moira McPherson.”

Hotch actually laughed out loud.

“SHE’S A SEXUAL SADIST AND A SERIAL KILLER! I HOPE HE DID KILL HER! SHE RUINED HIS FUCKING LIFE! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT WOMAN HAS BEEN DOING TO HIM FOR THE LAST THREE YEARS?!”

“Hotch!” Prentiss and Morgan each had to grab a shoulder to keep Aaron from launching at Deputy Gray.

“We are going to need to sort out the fine details before Mr. McPherson….” Garfield started.

“His name is Dr. Spencer Reid,” Hotch growled, shaking off Morgan and Prentiss.

“Dr. Spencer Reid then. We’re going to have to find Moira McPherson before Dr. Reid is going anywhere,” Gray said.

“Tomcat, in all likelihood, Moira has fled the state, just like she did every other time she left a victim behind,” Emily said, hoping to inject civility back into the exchange. It didn’t work.

“The only difference this time is that she left Reid alive. We need to find out why,” Morgan interjected.

“Maybe Moira left yesterday morning with no intention of coming back. Or, maybe Dr. Reid came to his senses, caught Mrs. McPherson in a vulnerable moment, and he done her in. I’m not saying I blame the man, if what you’re saying is true, but my job, my responsibility, is to find the person who is missing and might be in mortal danger. I cannot release my prime suspect to you, and let you whisk him away to DC, because you and I both know if I let you take him, and it turns out he killed his wife, I’ll never get my hands on him again, because you will do everything in your power to protect him from me.”

“She is not his fucking wife,” Hotch snapped.

“The woman is missing. I have to find her. That man is not going anywhere. Please enjoy your stay in North Carolina. Dear God, let it be brief.”

With that parting shot, Deputy Gray stomped back into the police station and left them in his wake.


	5. Chapter 5

Hotch, Morgan, and Prentiss entered the police station as a cohesive unit in spite of the fact they were all about as frazzled and tired and nervous as they had ever been. Deputy Gray was nowhere in sight.

Hotch paused, stepped to the side around a desk, and stared into the open break room. Vending machines gurgled and flashed at him.

Seated at the table with his back to the machines was Dr. Spencer Reid. It was like seeing a ghost. He was thinner (was that even possible)? He was pale as frost. His hair was close-cropped. The dark circles under his eyes shocked Hotch. Morgan had inhaled in surprise. Prentiss put a hand over her mouth and took a step forward.

A young woman in a police uniform appeared out of the corner of the break room. She put a hand on the table and spoke quietly to Reid.

“Wait here. Would you like more soda?”

“No, thank you,” Spencer spoke, tucked his hands down into his lap, and dropped his eyes to the table. He rocked in place for a second or two. He was spread thin with exhaustion.

The young woman left the break room and stood in front of the BAU team. She dropped her voice to a quiet tone.

“Hi. I’m Peg. Deputy Margaret Grimshaw. I couldn't help but hear you talking to Deputy Gray outside. Then he went storming through here like you'd stomped on his tail pretty hard."

"Aaron Hotchner." 

"Derek Morgan." 

"Emily Prentiss.."

The team introduced themselves in turn, but Hotch never took his eyes off Spencer for a second.

"I’m sorry Sheriff Michaels isn’t here. He’s on vacation. I’m in charge while he’s gone, but it’s just me and Tomcat, so, well…what I’m trying to say is…. Hope you had a good drive. I would like to talk to you before you pounce on this guy.”

“Okay,” Prentiss agreed.

“No,” Hotch decided curtly. He walked around the both of them and went into the break room. Prentiss cringed. Morgan stood shocked at Hotch’s rude behavior. Grimshaw looked sad and sympathetic.

Hotch pulled change from his pocket and went to the vending machine with candy bars and chips in it. With shaking hands, he plunked coin after coin after coin into the slot. He pushed buttons at random. Bags of chips fell. A candy bar dropped. Mints slid down. Hotch collected his trophies and set them down on the table in front of Reid, who was staring up at him with large, scared eyes.

“I’m Agent Aaron Hotchner, FBI,” Hotch said, taking out his badge and putting it down on the table. He took a seat across from Reid and slid the badge at him carefully. Spencer twisted slightly in his chair, rounding himself together tightly. Hotch’s large shoulders were shaking, but he pulled himself in check.

“Am I in trouble?” Reid asked nervously.

“No, baby, you're not in trouble,” Hotch promised, his voice trembling. 

Grimshaw took in the endearment Hotch used, and she tossed a plainly curious look to Emily and Derek, hoping for an explanation.

"It's a long story," Morgan whispered. 

"I imagine so," Grimshaw replied.

Reid put one delicate finger on the badge, traced the edges, and moved closer to the table. Hotch was opening the food—two bags of chips, candy bars, chocolate bars, mints, everything. He nudged all of it closer to Reid.

“Did you find Moira?” Reid asked.

“No, but we’re looking for her, believe me,” Hotch said grimly. “Dr. Reid, I want to talk about your dreams. The ones you told Moira about.”

“What did you call me?” he asked, eyes filled with puzzlement.

“Please eat. You look thin. Your name is Dr. Spencer Reid. That’s why I called you Dr. Reid. I could have called you Reid or Spencer. You like being called Reid. You have never really liked being called ‘Spencer’. Only your mother calls you that. JJ calls you ‘Spence’. You allow it, but you don’t like it. You told me once that you never liked your name because it sounds like something you’d call a poodle. And you are definitely not a poodle. You like to be called Doctor most of all.”

“Am I a doctor?” Reid asked, eyeing the food but not touching it.

“You are,” Hotch said simply. He started nibbling on the chips. “Do you mind if I call you Dr. Reid?”

“No,” Reid offered a faint hint at a smile, staring at the floor again. Hotch picked up one of the chips and gave it to Reid. Spencer held it absently, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“As I said, I’m Agent Aaron Hotchner. Most people call me ‘Hotch’.” 

“Doesn’t anyone call you Aaron?”

“Only my mother, my brother, and my partner,“ Hotch said. He waited for the word usage to sink in, wondering what Reid’s reaction would be. 

Grimshaw murmured a nearly-inaudbile, "Oh." 

Spencer looked up at her and started to blush. That was enough for Hotch. 

“Let’s talk about your dreams, Dr. Reid.”

“Do you think that’s why Moira left?” Spencer asked.

“Yes,” Hotch answered honestly. “If you are beginning to remember, in spite of what she's done.”

He caught himself and stopped.

“If you’re beginning to remember who you are, then it might be the reason she felt she had to leave you, yes.”

“Did they send for you because they think I killed Moira,” Reid said.

“Is Moira dead, Dr. Reid?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer answered blankly.

“Tell me about your dreams, Dr. Reid,” Hotch repeated. 

He nudged the second bag of chips closer to Spencer, and the nervous young man finally put the chip he was holding into his mouth. He chewed mechanically, then stuck a finger into the cellophane bag into to pick up another chip. Hotch exhaled, and relief ebbed through his veins.

Prentiss and Morgan waited outside the break room. Morgan was talking quietly with Deputy Grimshaw.

"I’m sorry, ma’am,” Morgan apologized. “Hotch, he’s not usually so brusque with local law enforcement. It’s just that Dr. Reid was…is part of our team. He’s a friend and a colleague. It’s been three years since we laid eyes on him. You understand there’s a sense of urgency here. We have to find Moira McPherson before she disappears and starts again somewhere else, with a new victim.”

“I’m with you completely, and I do understand. You have to understand our point of view too though. Gray and I have a responsibility to find Mrs. McPherson. We would welcome your help, as long as you understand that until we find her, that man in there, however humble and scared and nervous he is, he is our prime suspect, and he is not leaving the state of North Carolina without our permission.”

“Understood,” Morgan agreed.

While Morgan spoke, Prentiss was watching Hotch. Aaron glanced under the break room table, and his face washed with warmth and amusement. It was the shoes, Emily realized as she stared at Reid’s long feet. He was wearing black and white Converse sneakers.

“Where would you like to begin the investigation?” Prentiss asked Grimshaw. Peg gave a deep sigh and rubbed her small hands together.

“Agent Morgan and I will retrace the route between the McPherson home and the Beach Front Realty office in Salter Path. We’ll contact the office manager and find out what houses Mrs. McPherson was showing yesterday. We’ll contact state and county officials and ask them to help widen the search, put out a BOLO on the McPherson car, see if she ventured beyond the local area and is headed out of the county or out of the state.”

“Deputy Gray and I will go to the McPherson house and search it top to bottom, see what we can learn.”

“Agreed,” Morgan nodded.

“Updates in two hours, or before if you find anything,” Prentiss said. Grimshaw and Morgan both nodded on their way out the police station door. Emily turned to look into the break room again. Hotch had taken off his suit jacket in order to slip it around Reid’s shoulders.

“You look cold. That’s such a thin shirt,” Aaron explained. “Do you want to get up? Stretch a little? We can go find more comfortable chairs?”

“Maybe we can take him back to the house and ask him to walk us through?” Prentiss suggested from the doorway.

“Would that be all right?” Hotch asked, bending down to catch Reid’s eyes. "You won't be in any danger. Agent Prentiss and I will be with you the whole time."

Spencer nodded without looking up.

“Great,” Emily smiled. Hotch collected his badge off the table and scooped up the half-empty bags of food. He gave a big piece of chocolate to Prentiss. Emily was fishing in her pocket. She withdrew her badge and gave it to Reid.

“This is me. I’m Agent Prentiss. You can call me Emily. Or Emmy. Or Em. Okay, Dr. Reid?”

“Okay.”

“May I call you Dr. Reid?” 

“If you want,” he whispered.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Reid. We’re going to find Moira. She’s never going to hurt you again, I promise.”

“Moira loves me. She only hurts me when I misbehave,” Reid replied sadly, eyes glued to the floor. Hotch swelled up, his chest tightening, his fists clenching. He was on the verge of mayhem, like a volcano ready to erupt which only needed to decide on a direction to explode.

“Dr. Reid, if you come with us, no matter how much you misbehave, I promise Hotch and I are never going to hurt you,” Prentiss said, putting away her badge. She snapped the big piece of chocolate in half and gave a chunk to Spencer. He held it absently in his fingers, looking up at Hotch and back down again to the floor.

“Where did Deputy Gray go?” Hotch asked.

“Not far,” Garfield promised from the doorway. He was frowning. “Where are you planning on taking him?”

“To the McPherson house. Do I need to handcuff him, or will it suffice if I keep a hand on him at all times?” Hotch asked.

“I don’t think you’ll need handcuffs,” Gray grumbled. “Just don't let him out of your sight. Come on. I’ll show you where the McPherson house.”


	6. Chapter 6

Deputy Gray was sitting on the couch in the living room, watching Prentiss take notes. They had walked around the McPherson house for an hour now, and he had seen what it was on the surface—a three story, single- family home. Three bedrooms—one shared one, one outfitted as a guest room, and one outfitted as a study with real estate information from all over the country stuffed inside neat and tidy files and kept in pristine condition. The kitchen was clean and tidy – there were dishes in the dishwasher waiting to be put away. Half a loaf of wheat bread was wrapped up neatly on the counter. Food for a week or two was in the fridge and freezer combined. The living room was clean and straight. The basement, as yet, was the only room that hadn’t been studied, but the explanation for that was simple.

“It’s locked,” Hotch murmured. He turned to Reid, who was gently fingering one of the house plants by the window. 

“I don’t have the key. Moira does.”

“Do I have your permission to go into the basement?” Hotch asked. 

Reid nodded to him, facing the window, not looking at the basement door. 

“Do you have bolt cutters in the garage?”

“No, but that shouldn’t prevent entry into the area. There is a Phillips screwdriver in the top left kitchen drawer next to the sink. It would be far easier to unscrew the plates rather than cut through the lock itself.”

“I’ll check out the kitchen drawer,” Prentiss offered. Hotch was smiling faintly again at Reid. Emily returned with the screwdriver, and Gray kindly did the hard work of unscrewing the screws. In no time at all, the lock was removed and they were free to move into the basement for a look around. Not everyone was in a hurry to go down the carpeted steps though. Hotch raced down and stopped. Gray was on Aaron's heels, and stopped out of necessity. Prentiss put a hand on Reid’s elbow. He shriveled away from the touch.

“You said…” he whispered. "You said you wouldn't...." He was shivering. There were tears filling his eyes, perched on his lashes.

Prentiss didn’t even make it to the first step.

“It's okay,” Emily soothed, realizing there were very good reasons that Reid was terrified at the prospect of going down into that place. She put her arms around Reid, and he hid his face in her shoulder. “We don’t have to go down there. You haven’t misbehaved, and no one is going to hurt you. You and I will wait here. Hotch! Go ahead,” she called down to Hotch.

Prentiss closed the door again and pulled Reid over to the divan. They sat down. He curled his legs under himself and wrapped his arms around his chest.

“What does Moira do when you misbehave? She hurts you? She punishes you?”

“I’d rather not say,” Reid replied blankly. His tears dried away quickly, but his eyes were red and distant.

“Okay,” Emily nodded. She petted Reid’s shoulder and picked up the throw that was on the divan. She wrapped it around his thin shoulders, and held one of his hands. His fingers were ice-cold with fear. “It’s nearly midnight. You must be tired.”

“I slept so long yesterday and this morning too. I don’t know why I was so tired, but I couldn't keep my eyes open.”

“Where do you sleep?” 

“Upstairs.”

"Do you share a bed?” 

“When Moira says so.” 

“When Moira wants you?” 

“Yes.”

“When she doesn’t want you, do you sleep in the guest room?” 

“Yes.”

“Will you show me the guest room?” 

“Do you want me?”

Reid said the words quietly and without emotion. Prentiss was sure she had misheard him at first. She paused, stroked his hand a moment or two longer, and waited, playing his question over again in her mind. The implication of those innocent words burned her heart. Her stomach clenched with fear and sympathy for Reid, and burning hatred for Moira McPherson.

"If I did want you, would that be okay with Moira?” Emily almost couldn’t get the words out without tears. “Does she….does she share you with….others?”

“Moira does not like to share.”

“She’s possessive of you?” Emily asked, part of her so relieved. 

“Moira loves me.”

“I guess she does, in her own special way. I love you too, but not like Moira does. I do want you, but not like Moira does. Do you understand?”

Reid nodded.

“Derek loves you too. So does Hotch. Especially Hotch. We’ve missed you.”

Reid lifted his chin and studied Prentiss. He tilted his head and said nothing. It was like he was watching her from outside himself, not processing what she was telling him, not feeling the emotions he should have felt with that admission. Emily realized it was because he truly didn’t know who she was, and to him, she was a stranger. They were all strangers—the whole team.

“Would you like to come home with us, once this is all over?” Prentiss offered.

“Is that where I belong?” he asked.

“Yes. You belong with us. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong to Moira.”

“Do I belong to you?” Reid asked, putting his eyes back on the floor. Prentiss brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his cold fingers.

“You don’t belong to anyone.” 

“Moira says…”

“You don’t belong to Moira. You don't belong to me. You belong to Hotch,” Emily whispered. “He loves you so much. He’s missed you, so much. Don't you remember anything?”

“Dead bodies. Lots of dead bodies.”

“Well, that’s understandable,” Prentiss chuckled, kissing Reid’s cold fingers again. “Maybe the rest will come back in time. You have lost your memory before, but it was only briefly. You got a concussion on a case, and you were out of it for about a week or so.”

“On a case?”

“Didn’t Hotch explain this to you?” 

“Explain what?”

“The reason you know about all those dead people is because you worked with us. Moira took you while you were working a case with us, as a member of our team.”

Spencer blinked at her in disbelief. "Moira lied to me? There wasn't any accident? There wasn't any car wreck? It was all a lie?"

“Dr. Reid, Moira has lied to you from the beginning. Losing you almost killed Hotch. He’s upset and he’s scared, almost as much as you are. But you don’t have to worry, because he’s going to find Moira. Okay?”

“Will Moira be all right?” Reid asked. Prentiss didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“That remains to be seen,” Emily said as she heard feet stomping back up the stairs.

Gray came up through the basement door first. He was frowning, biting his mouth closed. Emily’s stomach clenched up again.

Hotch came through next. He closed the basement door and picked up the screwdriver off the floor. He meticulously refitted the screws into place, tightened them, and retightened them again. He finally turned around to face Emily and Spencer. Aaron was white as a sheet. His face was wet. He brushed off his cheeks angrily. His powerful hands flailed for a moment, not sure what to do with the screwdriver he held. He dropped it to the ground and left it there on the carpet. Hotch stormed over to the divan, scooped Reid up into his arms, and crushed him in a brutal, frightened hug.

“I am taking you out of this house, and you are never, ever coming back,” Aaron declared, lifting Spencer’s chin and caressing his cheek and jawline with tender fingers. Reid looked so afraid, either of the situation or of Hotch, Prentiss wasn’t sure which one.

"Who will water Moira's plants?” Spencer asked in a child-like voice that made Hotch tear up again.

“I’ll water them,” Emily said. That seemed to calm Reid a little. Hotch held him close again, drying his own tears against Reid’s close-cropped hair.

Gray’s radio sparkled to life. “Tomcat? You there?”

“Hey, Peg,” Garfield answered back. The snap and crackle of static did nothing to dampen the warmth he felt at hearing her familiar and comforting voice.

“Agent Morgan and I may have a lead or two here. Can we meet up and discuss?”

“Peg O’ My Heart,” Gray chuckled. “I will meet you anywhere you want.” 

“Hospital,” Hotch said. 

Prentiss inhaled sharply.

“Meet us at Carteret General, Peg,” Gray said. 

“We’re about six blocks away,” Grimshaw replied. 

“We’ll be there in twenty,” Gray smiled.

Hotch led Reid by the hand towards the front door. Prentiss remained back a step or two, touching Gray's shoulder.

"Tomcat, I can explain about Hotch and...." 

"Em, there's nothing to explain. I get it." 

"You get what?"

"You don't have to explain. I know how I would feel if someone hurt Peg the way Moira has hurt Dr. Reid."

"You know?" Emily asked, wondering what Hotch and Gray had seen in the basement.

"There wouldn't be enough left of that bastard to put in a small paper bag," Garfield growled.

"Yeah, you get it," Prentiss agreed.


	7. Chapter 7

Hotch, Prentiss, Morgan, Grimshaw, and Gray were pacing the hallway outside the emergency room at Carteret General Hospital in Morehead City, North Carolina, which was just up the road from the tiny Atlantic Beach.

“Mrs. McPherson arrived at work yesterday morning on time,” Deputy Grimshaw reported, reading her notes from the small tablet in her hands. “She picked up her assignments for the day, and headed back out. She was in very good spirits, according to the office manager. She said Moira had said she was going away for a long weekend, and she was excited about the trip."

“She arrived at the first house. Had three showings. Arrived at the second house around noon, had one showing. She never made it to house number three, which is in Pine Knolls, near the turn off for the aquarium,” Morgan reported.

“That’s a nice aquarium. You all should go there if you get a chance while you’re here,” Peg chipped in. Everyone stared at her, not sure what to make of the suggestion. Only Prentiss smiled.

“Thanks. We will,” she said.

Peg continued awkwardly, “Well, so, I contacted the Pine Knolls sheriff, cousin of mine, also a Grimshaw, and he’s got his officers out looking around for Moira too.”

"We also questioned one of Moira's co-workers, the only one who has actually met 'her husband' in the flesh. Moira brought him to a potluck dinner. According to the co-worker, Moira held his hand the entire time, and at first she thought it was sweet that they were so close. But then after two hours, three hours, four hours, Moira had yet to let go of his hand. The co-worker said Moira might as well have had him on a leash," Morgan reported.

"I don't know about a leash, but she's got a fucking shackle for him," Gray interjected.

“What else did you find at the house? Anything helpful?” Morgan asked. Hotch cleared his throat and attempted not to wibble in front of his subordinates. Prentiss swallowed loudly, and Gray exhaled in a resigned manner.

"We need to head back over to the house and take pictures, collect evidence in the basement,” Garfield said to Hotch.

“I’ll come with you,” Morgan offered. Prentiss thought that might be a Very Bad Idea, considering what five minutes in that basement had done to Hotch. If it did the same thing to Morgan, Emily wasn’t sure what would happen. The last thing they needed was both Hotch and Morgan in uncontrollable rampages.

“Why don’t I go with Tomcat, and you stay with Hotch and Peg?” Emily offered.

“Prentiss, you go with Deputy Gray and process the crime scene,” Hotch intervened when Morgan looked ready to disagree with Prentiss. “Morgan, you contact JJ. Let her know we need her and Rossi and Torgeson down here first thing in the morning. If McPherson went missing between the second and third house yesterday around noon, and her intention was to disappear and not return, then she has a thirty-six hour headstart on us. We need to spread our search wider if we want to have even the smallest chance of finding her. Get Garcia to check on the McPherson credit cards and bank accounts. Check for any out-of-state transactions in the last six weeks that might look suspicious.”

“Yes, sir,” they both answered in unison. As Prentiss headed out with Garfield hurrying to catch up to her quick stride, Morgan pulled out his phone and thumbed up the necessary numbers.

Hotch smiled hesitantly at Deputy Grimshaw, and she smiled back, just as nervous.

“What is it you want me to do?” she asked.

“I need you to call Dr. Reid’s mother, tell her he’s alive, ask her to come to North Carolina if she will.”

“You don’t want to call her?”

“She blames me for what happened to her son. For his disappearance. For everything. I haven’t spoken to her in two and a half years. It's complicated by the fact that she’s a paranoid schizophrenic, in an institution in Las Vegas, Nevada. Spencer is her only child, and losing him was very hard for her. She could not accept the reality of it at first. Hell, none of us could. But she had an exceptionally hard time coming to terms with his disappearance, and has never accepted that he could be gone.”

“What’s it going to do to her, having me call us out of the blue and tell her her son is alive after three years?”

“Believe me when I tell you, she is going to take the news much better from you than she would from me,” Hotch whispered. “But be prepared if she isn’t the friendliest human being.”

“Where do I find Mrs. Reid?”

“Bennington Sanitarium, Las Vegas, Nevada.”

“Will do,” Deputy Grimshaw said, pulling out her phone and heading for a quiet spot to talk.

The door to the exam room opened. Hotch spun around, greeting the young woman who exited. She pulled off her outer robe and hat, balling them up and stuffing them down into the nearest tall trash can. She came back to Hotch, shivered, scratched her upper arm for a moment, and cleared her throat.

“He’s going to be groggy for a while. I had to sedate him to complete the full body exam. Don't worry. I remembered what you said about a possible overdose, so I gave him as little as I could.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“You should not leave him alone for at least twenty four hours. Bring him back to me if he seems too lethargic or he starts having slurred speech.”

“I won’t leave him alone,” Hotch promised. “What did you find?” 

“Mr. McPherson……..”

“Dr. Reid,” Hotch growled.

“He’s in our hospital records as Matthew McPherson. Moira brought him in a year and a half ago when he fell down the basement steps and broke his right arm. I'm ashamed to tell you he was bandaged up and sent back home with her.”

"There was no reason to be suspicious," Hotch offered.

"That doesn't make me feel any better, Agent Hotchner," the doctor said, tearing up.

“You didn't know. You couldn't have known. You have to let go of it,” Hotch said slowly. “But, please don’t call him Matthew McPherson. That’s not his name. His name is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Dr. Reid has the scars you said to look for: an appendectomy scar, surgery scars on his left knee, scarring on the lungs from anthrax, old track mark scars on both arms. New injection scars, but those are mostly on his biceps and his buttocks. There's a fresh injection site no more than two days old on his right shoulder. Agent Hotchner, you were correct about the high levels of barbiturates in his system. I ordered a toxicology screening right away.”

“So Moira injected him and she left for work, thinking she had given him enough to kill him, thinking she was free and clear and ready to start over again," Hotch speculated.

“But she didn’t know he was a former drug addict, did she?” 

“No,” Hotch shook his head.

“So she guessed wrong on the amount to give him."

"Yes," Hotch nodded. "Reid probably woke up sleepy and sluggish, confused and disoriented. Spent the first day waiting for her to return, sleeping on and off. When she didn’t show after work on the second day, he left the house, went to the police station, and reported her missing."

"He doesn’t have any idea that she tried to kill him," the doctor whispered. 

“No, and I’d like to keep it that way, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“Did you find signs of repeated restraint?”

“He’s got a mild deformation on his left ankle and lower leg bones, consistent with being shackled for long periods of time by that extremity. He might walk with a slight limp, but physical therapy would counter-act the effects in time.”

“Whip marks?” Hotch breathed.

“Old scars, yes, on his back and legs.”

“Evidence of sexual….” Hotch couldn’t get the word ‘torture’ out. Neither could the doctor. Her young face grew severe.

“Yes.” That was all she could say.

“Don't go into detail. I can read it in your report,” Hotch murmured. 

“Sure. Mm hmm.”

“Permanent damage?” Hotch asked.

“There doesn’t seem to be any permanent physical damage. It makes sense. She wanted to hurt him but not injure him, because....because...."

"That's why she was keeping him," Hotch said the words for her. The doctor nodded painfully.

"I did an internal and external exam, an ultrasound of his abdomen, x-rays of his entire body, and MRI on his cranial region, as you requested. He’s got quite a few scars. Some superficial. Some not so superficial. There are scars that don’t show, if you know what I mean. He's going to need long-term therapy if you want him to have any chance at a full recovery. You’re going to have to watch him for PTSD as well, but you know that, I’m sure.”

“Thank you. I will."

"He'll need a therapist who has experience with male rape victims."

"No doubt," Hotch said sadly. Knowing Moira hadn't done any permanent physical harm didn’t make her crimes against Reid hurt any less, because that didn't erase what she had been doing to Reid-- body and soul-- for three years.

“Sorry to be indelicate,” the doctor answered. 

“What about the tattoo?”

“Upper left back, on the scapula, just as you said.” 

"Recently done?”

“Within the last two weeks.” 

“Can you remove it?”

“It will require several laser treatments, usually spaced eight weeks apart, but yes, it would be possible to remove the tattoo.”

“I need you to begin that as soon as possible.”

“I’ll arrange the first treatment for tomorrow if you like, but, Agent Hotchner, my understanding is that the tattoo is connected to your case against this McPherson woman who is missing.”

“Yes.”

“Should you be erasing evidence that way?”

“We can take pictures, prove it was on Dr. Reid’s skin, prove she put it there, but I think I can safely assure you that Dr. Reid would want it gone as fast as possible.”

“I understand,” she nodded. 

“Can I see him now?”

“He’s getting dressed,” the doctor pointed over her shoulder with one finger. Hotch thanked her again, and hurried in the direction that she had pointed.


	8. Chapter 8

“Good Evening, sirs. How may I help you?”

“I’d like to get six hotels rooms, please,” Hotch said as he and Morgan stood at the counter at the Sheraton in Morehead City. To her credit, the clerk hardly batted a lash at their request, which was an amazing feat as far as Hotch was concerned. If two men in dark suits looking for six hotel rooms after midnight didn’t raise a brow, the fact that they had a third man propped between them, a man who was clearly impaired and not standing aloft on his own power, this should have at least merited a passing question. But they got nothing beyond polite greetings.

“Yes, sir. We have six rooms available on the fifth floor. Will that be acceptable?”

“Do you have elevators?” Hotch wondered, not cherishing the idea of having to carry Reid up five floors.

“Yes, sir. Right behind you there across the lobby,” she pointed.

“Thank God,” Aaron whispered as he dug for his wallet and gave her his work credit card. He started filling out the form that she had handed him.

“I need to see some ID, sir,” the clerk asked, tapping keys on the computer. “From you as well, sir,” she added to Derek.

Morgan pulled out his credentials and put them beside Hotch’s. Derek felt Spencer’s dark brown eyes following him, from where Reid was propped up on Hotch’s right shoulder, clinging to his waist. Morgan raised a hand and gently rubbed Reid’s shoulder, moving up and down his slack arm for a second or two.

“We need to get him to bed before he drops right here,” Derek whispered to Hotch, who agreed with a nod.

“There will be other agents arriving in the early morning. Would it be possible have keys to their rooms ready for them so all they have to do is come to the desk and show you their credentials?” Hotch asked the clerk.

“Yes, sir. I will need to know their names though.”

“David Rossi—mid-sixties, short gray and black hair, stout, round, Italian guy. He’ll probably flirt with you. Watch out for him. He’s looking for wife number four. Jennifer Jareau—late-thirties, blonde, medium height, slender build, girl next door. Emily Prentiss—mid- forties, dark hair, dark eyes, medium height, slender build. Think Angelica Houston. Karl Torgeson—mid-thirties, blue eyes, blond hair, really blond, super blond, so blond that he’s got no eyebrows, medium height, medium build, eager to be liked,” Hotch rambled. The clerk was warming up to them—she was amused by Hotch’s description of his team.

“I need the license plate number off your vehicle too,” she pointed to the spot that Hotch had left blank.

“Oh,” Aaron frowned and looked at Morgan, who sputtered and shrugged both shoulders.

“G 13, 43908,” Reid mumbled softly. 

“What?” Hotch whispered to him.

“G 13, 43908,” Spencer repeated more strongly. Hotch smiled. Morgan smirked, rubbing Reid’s arm again.

“Thanks, kid. Hotch, do you want me to take my bag upstairs and then go back to the McPherson house and help Prentiss process the scene?” Morgan murmured. “Or would you rather that I stay and help with Reid? How long is he going to be groggy?”

“The doctor said we couldn’t leave him alone for twenty-four hours,” Hotch replied as the clerk typed in their information. From the play of her eyebrows, Aaron knew she was listening to their every word.

“We’re going to find her, Hotch, don’t worry,” Morgan said. 

“Hopefully before she ruins another innocent life,” Aaron growled. 

“I need a name for him too,” the clerk said, pointing to Reid.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” Hotch said, digging into his pocket again. He pulled out Reid’s credentials and put them on the counter. Morgan gave Hotch a sideways glance but said nothing. How long had Hotch been carrying those?

“Is he always this quiet?” the clerk asked, ducking down to catch Reid’s shy eyes.

“Only when sedated,” Morgan assured her grimly.

“Are you on a manhunt or something?” the clerk whispered. The way she lowered her voice and drew closer to them over the counter made Morgan smile.

"Woman hunt," Reid correctly timidly. 

"Woman hunt,” Derek confirmed.

“Is it that lady that’s gone missing from Atlantic Beach? Didn’t her husband kill her?”

“No, I didn't,” Spencer pouted.

“How did you know about that?” Hotch wondered, holding onto Reid’s waist a fraction tighter when he started to slide downward.

“One of my cousins is a state trooper,” the clerk shrugged. “I don’t know all the details, of course, just that he and the others had to come back into work tonight because the authorities were on an all-out search for a missing real estate agent from Salter Path. I don’t know if this is at all helpful, but my sister might have seen a house with her.”

“When?” Hotch asked.

“Day before yesterday. Carol’s looking to get a place down that way.”

“Ma’am, it would be really helpful if we could talk with your sister,” Hotch said. He dropped downward to catch Reid, who was going horizontal. Morgan bent down and helped haul Reid vertical again.

“I can get her on the phone, maybe even get her down here,” the clerk offered.

“I’ll stay here,” Morgan said. Hotch nodded his thanks and held onto Reid with both arms this time. The clerk was handing them their hotel room keys with one hand and dialing her cell phone with the other.

“Carol? It’s Diane. You there? Honey, that house you saw yesterday? There’s an agent here who wants to talk to you about the lady.”

The clerk gave her phone to Morgan. Then she came around the counter and picked up both Hotch’s bag and Morgan’s bag, and headed towards the two elevators across the lobby. Hotch nodded his thanks and danced Reid’s slack form towards that direction.

The elevator ride was interesting. Hotch could not help but be self- conscious, standing there holding Reid against himself, chest to chest, feeling soft breathing against his neck, slender fingers clutching his waist. Reid rocked side to side, his eyes lifting up and locking with Hotch's eyes. Was he beginning to smile, maybe a tiny bit? Hotch was fighting the urge to nuzzle his chopped hair and kiss his soft cheek, not only because he didn’t want to scare Spencer, but because he didn’t want to alarm the clerk.

“Why did you have to sedate him?” the clerk asked, motioning to Reid with her chin. “He doesn’t like to fly?”

“He doesn’t like doctors,” Hotch offered. Reid put his head on Hotch's chest once more.

“He’s drooling on you,” she smiled a little.

“Yeah,” Hotch nodded, allowing a tiny smile as well.

“You’ll like the rooms. They’re small suites. Every one has a view of the ocean. Sunsets are gorgeous—so romantic. But the sunrises? Just awesome,” she said, adjusting her grip on Morgan’s bag. “You only got six rooms,” she realized.

“Yeah,” Hotch nodded again. “The doctor said not to leave Dr. Reid alone for twenty-four hours.”

“Well, each room has a pull-out sofa, so you’ll do all right.” 

“Thanks,” Hotch murmured.

Once she made sure Hotch and Reid were safely escorted to the hotels rooms, and they were safely inside one of the rooms, the clerk waved goodbye and closed the door behind herself.


	9. Chapter 9

Hotch hadn't felt this nervous being alone with someone in a long time. He guided Spencer over to the bed and set him down very carefully. To his surprise, Reid stayed upright. He watched Hotch pull back the covers, then watched Aaron kneel down on the carpet. Maybe the sedative was beginning to wear off. Reid's eyes were more clear. They were focusing in concert again. That was an improvement.

“Let me take off your shoes,” Aaron said, undoing the laces. Spencer lifted one foot, then the other, hands balanced back to either side. When Hotch looked up, dark hazel eyes were watching him. “You should try to rest,” he said, patting the pillows.

“Do you think Moira will be mad at me?” Reid asked softly.

“You don’t have to worry about that any more. Moira can be mad and be damned,” Hotch whispered.

Reid nodded slowly in reply. He looked lost and confused. Hotch was sure the revelations of the last two days had thoroughly blown Reid’s mind. Aaron put out a hand and rubbed soothingly on the top of Spencer’s head, feeling his short hair bristle back up at the touch. Hotch thought perhaps he could feel a new scar, one that sat directly on Reid’s crown.

“I need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back. Are you okay? Do you want a glass of water?” Hotch asked.

“I can make a drink for you,” Reid offered.

“You can?” Hotch smiled patiently at him, caressing his chin again. Aaron remembered himself and stopped. It wasn’t appropriate to touch Reid this way, not anymore, not without permission. But Aaron couldn’t seem to stop himself. He needed to touch Spencer – needed to feel he was real. It was so unreal, having him here, having him this close, having him alive again. Aaron had spent too long with the ghost of Spencer Reid, too many nights wishing away time and eternity so he could have Spencer back in his arms. All Hotch wanted to do was crawl in bed beside Reid and console him any way he wanted. He wasn’t sure that was what Reid wanted though.

Hotch turned away from the bed and opened the small fridge that was up against the wall between the desk and the tv armoire. He sighed with relief to find an assortment of tiny bottles of liquor as well as bottles of water. He handed Reid several bottles and headed down the hall towards the bathroom.

When Hotch returned, Reid was not on the bed, and not in the living room area, and not in the kitchenette area. He inhaled sharply, and spun around in wild panic but stopped and calmed down as quickly as he had flared up. He laughed at himself and headed for the moving curtains.

The balcony door was open. The curtains were dancing in the salty winds. There was a tall, thin silhouette leaning against the balcony, holding two glasses. Hotch went out on the balcony, surprised at how bright the stars and the moon were, surprised at all the lights from the patio far below. The ocean was rolling in and out beyond the beach below. The smell of salt and fish was nearly overwhelming. There was a couple nestled in behind an umbrella, thinking they were invisible in the night, but unaware they were being watched.

“Get a room,” Reid intoned crossly. Hotch snickered at the comment.

Reid gave Hotch one of the glasses and sat down with a thump on the floor of the balcony. He sipped from his glass, ice cubes clinking. Hotch sat down as well, watching Reid shiver in the cold winds. Hotch put down his glass, a scotch so tight and neat it squeaked. He slipped off his suit jacket and wrapped it around Reid’s trembling shoulders. 

“Tell me who I am, Agent Aaron Hotchner,” Reid said. 

“What?”

“Tell me everything you know about Dr. Spencer Reid. Tell me why you keep putting your clothes on me.”

Hotch found a small chuckle. He reached for his glass and took a large bolt, dotting off his bottom lip with one knuckle.

“You went missing three years ago while we were working a case, a case against Moira McPherson.”

“No. Tell me about myself. What am I like?” 

“Should you be drinking?” Hotch worried. 

“It’s water. Moira doesn’t let me drink.”

“I’m not surprised,” Hotch whispered.

“What if Moira isn’t her name?” Spencer said. 

“What?”

Reid rubbed his forehead and the bridge of his nose.

“She called me Matthew, but I’m not Matthew, not anymore. What if her name really isn’t Moira? Maybe it never was?”

“That’s a valid point,” Hotch agreed.

“Angelica Houston said I belong to you. Is that true?” 

“Angelica what?”

“I’m sorry. Agent Prentiss. She said I belong to you. Is that true?” 

"Why do you ask?”

“You make me feel strange.”

“I’m sorry if I frightened you or upset you or…” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Reid whispered.

Hotch was not prepared when Reid leaned over and nuzzled his nose tenderly against Hotch’s nose before dotting a small kiss on Hotch’s lips. Spencer pulled away quickly, too soon, and buried his nose in his glass of ice water, hiding from Hotch and from his own embarrassment at what he had just done. Hotch stared at him in shock and puzzlement.

“I know this has got to be strange for you, all the things that have happened in the last two days, but believe me when I tell you, we are trying to help you, and Moira has been lying to you, and we’re going to catch her and put her away for what she’s done to you.”

Aaron blurted the words quickly and frantically before bolting down the rest of the glass of scotch. Reid leaned his back against the balcony railing, casting faintly-amused eyes at the nervous agent. Spencer stretched out his long legs and rested one bare foot in Hotch’s grip.

“Should you be fucking one of your subordinates, Agent Aaron Hotchner?”

“Probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” Hotch admitted, caressing those long toes and strumming gently over the top of Reid's foot.

“Tell me about the first time we slept together.” 

“Not my best moment,” Hotch winced.

“Was it my best moment?”

“Not really,” Hotch grinned. “You were amazing though. So….fucking…..hot,” he added, his voice gravely with lust. 

“Is that why you got involved with me? Because I was good in bed?” 

“Erm….”

“I want the truth,” Reid insisted.

“I had wanted you from the first time we met. But it was never appropriate. Never what I should be doing."

"You've spent a lot of your life doing what you should be doing," Reid decided. 

"What changed your mind?"

"We were both lonely, I suppose, and you are so wonderful. You have no idea how tempting you are, and that’s the most incredible thing about you. But it’s not the only incredible thing about you. You’re smart. Like tonight. You're not sure about your own name, but back there in the police station, you were telling me in great detail about half the cases we worked. Names, faces, places, details of the crimes we've solved. It’s all stored in your head. You remember everything you read. I do believe in time that all of it will come back to you. You need time-- that's all.”

“Tell me more,” Reid rasped.

“You’re not just smart. You’re clever. You’re wicked. You’re tricky. You’re guileful. That face misleads everyone into thinking you’re so innocent and naïve. You're a good man, but you're no angel. I've seen you fool people into trusting you, confessing to you. You have worked over more than one unsub over the years, had them confessing their every evil deed, and all you had to do was sit there and stare at them with those big Bambi eyes.”

“I dream sometimes about a little blond boy who holds my hand. We play with Legos. He likes the crusts cut off his peanut-butter sandwiches. He loathes grape jelly. He has Spiderman pajamas.”

“My son Jack,” Hotch grinned so suddenly that Reid flinched back. 

“Moira said he wasn’t real.”

“Moira was wrong. Jack is very real.”

“So you are married, and you have a young son, and you’re fucking your too-clever subordinate because he’s amazing in bed? How close am I?” Reid wondered.

Hotch chuckled again. “I’m divorced and a widower. My ex-wife Haley is dead.”

“Was she dead before or after the divorce?”

“After,” Hotch explained.

“Technically then, you are not a widower.” 

“Right,” Hotch nodded.

“Were we fucking when you were still married?” 

“No, no, no, no,” Hotch shook his head.

“You loved your wife and you would never have cheated on her. You love her even now, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then why were you fucking me? Because you were lonely and because I am amazing in bed?”

“It’s more than that," Hotch said sheepishly. 

“Have I ever been married?”

“Not that I know of, but then again, you’re from Las Vegas, so anything is possible.”

“Oh…my….goodness….” Reid was laughing quietly, his voice carrying on the wind. “Oh God, that makes sense. It makes so much sense.”

“What does?”

“Las Vegas,” Reid grinned. “Nothing. Everything. Tell me more,” he pleaded, taking one of Hotch’s hands.

“I will tell you everything. I promise I will. But for tonight, I think it’s time we went to bed,” Hotch insisted, pulling Reid up to his feet once more.

Hotch walked Reid back inside the room, chasing the ends of the billowing curtains before he could close the balcony door. He turned around from adjusting the curtains, and Reid was in his arms, curled up to his chest, nose in his ear.

“Do you want me?” Spencer whispered, his voice husky and shy at once.

“I….” Hotch gulped.

“Agent Prentiss said I belong to you. Do you want me? You can have me if you want me.”

“I….” Hotch stammered again. “Are you sure you….I mean…after…..”

Hotch was at a loss for words. Reid pulled back, watched his face, and began to blush and frown.

“I have problems sometimes,” Spencer blurted. 

“Problems with what?” Hotch froze with fear. 

“What I should and shouldn’t do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Moira said it was because of my accident.” 

“What is?”

“I should do this. I should not do this. I have a hard time with that. I should do this. I should not do this," Spencer repeated, balancing his hands and staring meaningfully at Hotch. Hotch began to nod.

“Impulse control. You have a hard time deciding if you should or shouldn't do things?” Aaron asked.

“Yes,” Reid nodded emphatically. “That’s why Moira doesn’t let me drink. Alcohol makes it worse. Should I not be doing this? Do you not want me?”

“Spencer, I do want you,” Hotch whispered, kissing Reid tenderly on the mouth.

That was apparently all Reid needed to hear, because he began taking off his clothes. Aaron felt like the ocean waves outside were echoing the feelings of guilt that were washing over his conscience. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should not be doing this. But he couldn’t stop.

“How do you want me?” Spencer asked, his voice nervous and maybe a little scared. Hotch rubbed one hand along the slender side he could reach, stepping closer to Spencer, closer to the bed. He rubbed those naked ribs and felt so nervous again.

“Sit down,” Hotch whispered. Spencer did. “Lie back, baby. Let me make you feel good,” Aaron crooned. He reached for the lamp and flooded the room in darkness. Reid sat up with a startled squeak, grabbing his neck and shoulders.

“No. Please. The light. Leave the light on. Please leave the light on. I don’t like the dark. Moira…..she puts me in the dark when I’m bad. Please leave the light on,” Spencer begged, long fingers clutching at Hotch, one arm going up around his neck. “Please. Please.”

Hotch turned the light back on, and carefully uncoiled Reid’s long limbs, stroking his head soothingly.

“You didn’t like the dark before Moira either,” Aaron whispered, knowing McPherson must have wasted no time at all exploiting Reid’s every last deep fear as she found them out. Hotch was overwhelmed the sudden need to wrap his hands around Moira McPherson’s throat and choke the living daylights out of her. If only he had an idea where she and her precious throat were.

"I don’t like the dark,” Reid repeated, shivering.

"Are you okay?” Hotch asked, getting nose to nose with the shaking man.

“I’m okay now. You. You make me feel okay,” Spencer nodded. “You make me feel safe.”

“Lie back,” Hotch murmured, dotting tender kisses on Reid’s mouth.

“Don’t turn out the light,” Reid whispered, putting his tense body back against the smooth sheets.

This was going to be like doing a tango in a live minefield, Hotch decided, letting his hands run down and over Reid’s nakedness. Hotch did his best to ignore the map of new and unfamiliar scars that met his fingers.


	10. Chapter 10

The sun was rising when Reid woke up in the morning. He felt more clear- headed today than he had yesterday or the day before. Red and golden light spilled across the large bed, making it feel afire with color and warmth. Someone unfamiliar and familiar was pillowing his head on a broad shoulder. Large, flat hands were rubbing his back. Matthew kept his eyes closed, savoring the safe embrace a moment or two longer.

Not Matthew, he corrected himself. Spencer. He was Spencer. He felt a small laugh well up. What a fussy name. It really was something you should call your poodle, not your child.

Spencer opened his eyes and studied the man he was lying next to, cradled against, protected by. It was Agent Hotchner. Hotch to almost everyone. Aaron to his mother and his partner. Those words rolled back to Reid. They made him smile. The memories of last night made him smile as well-- Aaron down between his legs, tongue caressing, hands stroking, fingers teasing. It was evident from the start that Aaron knew his way around, knew everything that would please Spencer. It had been so long since he had felt that way-- had felt that good. It had been a long time since desire had meant warmth in his veins and not icy terror running down his spine.

Aaron wasn’t asleep either. He was watching the colors of the sunrise as they moved across the bed, the waves of light and radiant warmth. He was also watching Spencer. The love burning off Aaron’s face was competing with the sun’s morning rays. It was like lying between two suns, being between the red-orange orb outside the windows and the light of pure love on Hotch’s face.

Hotch lifted one finger and caressed the side of Spencer’s face, giving him a reassuring and sad half-smile. Reid could hear the water outside beyond the balcony, hear the waves licking and teasing the shore and rolling away again. His memory was like the ocean outside, immense and unstoppable, and lapping the shore of his mind one small wave at a time. It would come back to him soon. At least he hoped it would return, like a massive tsunami of memories.

Spencer didn’t remember a lot, and when you spent a good deal of your time in a world where few memories existed beyond three years ago, it wasn’t hard to take a things on faith-- like the fact it might be okay that you were lying next to a perfect stranger, and he was caressing your face with a lover’s gentle touch. Like the fact the woman you had lived three years with, the one who swore her love to you nightly even as she tormented you, the one who cared for you with the attentive concern of a mother and a lover in one, that she might be a deranged killer who had snatched you away from your life and had been holding you captive against your will. Nothing seemed entirely beyond belief. He was willing to believe that Hotch loved him. Agent Prentiss had told Spencer that he belonged to Hotch, after all, hadn’t she? Reid wondered what Moira was going to think about that. That concern must have displayed on his face. Hotch’s features melted with sympathy.

“It’s okay,” Hotch whispered. “I'm still here. Are you hungry? I’ll get breakfast for you. We need to get up. I need to check in with the rest of the team.”

Someone was knocking at the door which was behind and above them somewhere. It was an insistent knock. Reid lifted his head and stared through the half wall and railings that separated the bedroom from the living room of the small suite hotel room. Hotch crawled out of bed to answer the door, and Reid balled up on the spot where Hotch had been. The covers were warm, and curling up in them felt almost as good as having Aaron’s arms around him.

Agent Morgan was at the door. He bounced into the room on the balls of his feet, all excitement and energy even at this early hour.

“Hotch. We got her. We got her. We…oh,” Derek stopped when he saw that Spencer was watching him, more specifically that he was curled up on the only bed in the hotel room, snuggled under the covers. “Hotch, is that such a good idea?” Morgan whispered, pointing towards Reid.

“What?” Hotch asked, but in a tone that Morgan understood right away. He lifted both hands to shoulder height, palms up, head turned to one side.

“I know. None of my business,” Morgan murmured.

“No, it's not,” Hotch added. “Let’s talk outside. Dr. Reid? I’ll be right back. Sleep a while longer.”

“Aaron, I think it would be okay if you called me Spencer,” Reid replied. He laid back down on the pillows and totally missed the grin that Morgan gave Hotch, and the terrific blush that burned up the SAIC’s stoic face.

Their voices were partially-audible in the hallway too, but Reid didn’t listen. As long as Agent Hotchner was close, Moira wasn’t getting anywhere near him ever again. Hotch returned with a burst of energy that matched Morgan’s. They were ready for battle, Reid recognized. That didn’t stop Spencer from leaping up in surprise when the door jerked open. Hotch raced around the hotel room, pulling on trousers and a white shirt, fumbling for a tie, reaching for a jacket, slipping on socks, putting on his shoes.

“Agent Morgan is going to stay with you,” Hotch explained. Morgan groaned with disappointment. But Hotch shut him up again with just one look. Aaron stopped-- one shoe on, one shoe off, tie askew. He took Reid by both shoulders and planted a gentle kiss on his mouth. “Don’t worry. I am a phone call away.”

“I don’t have a phone. I don’t know your number,” Spencer replied. "What's for breakfast?"

“Morgan, could you......?” Hotch wailed.

“I’ve got him, Hotch. Don’t worry. Get going.”

Hotch was gone in an instant, but not without a final, lingering stare from the hotel room door. Reid tilted his head and stared back.

"I'm not going anywhere," Reid shrugged. Hotch nodded, dismissing his own sudden fears.

"Bet your ass, you're not," Morgan told him as he closed the door.

Reid stared at Hotch’s disarrayed go-bag and at the clothes that were thrown all around.

“When do you think he’ll realize he’s got two different socks on?” Spencer asked Morgan. Derek lowered his head and tried not to laugh. “Where did you find Moira?” Reid wondered. All the humor in Morgan’s face and eyes disappeared. He delivered the information as carefully as he could manage.

“Outside of Winston-Salem. Her car went off the road into a ditch, flipped over on its roof. It wasn’t visible from the road. The state troopers were doing a fly-over in a chopper and spotted it, wheels up.”

“Is she alive?” Reid shivered. “She is.”

“What happened?”

“There’s a dead deer on the other side of the road, and skid marks leaving the highway. The speculation is that she was driving at dusk or dawn, and a deer darted out in front of her. She swerved to miss the deer, and went off the road.”

“Hm,” Reid said, his face pensive.

Morgan really thought Reid might have more to say on the matter. But he apparently he didn't. Reid turned around and picked up the room service menu from beside the room phone.

"Are you hungry, Agent Morgan?" Spencer asked. 

"I could eat," Morgan said.

"Can we talk while we eat?" Reid asked hopefully. Morgan was developing an eerie tickle on the back of his neck.


	11. Chapter 11

The first face that Moira McPherson saw when she opened her eyes was a young woman in a white coat, and so Moira smiled at her.

“She’s awake, Agent Hotchner.”

The young woman in the white coat moved away, like a golden angel fluttering aside. 

A dark and sinister form took her place-- a man with a deep voice, dark eyes, and a dark scowl on his unshaven face. His charcoal gray suit matched his mood.

“Moira McPherson?” he questioned.

“Yes,” she nodded. She did not like the smile that sprouted up one side of the grim man’s face. 

He glanced back towards the door as if also looking for confirmation from that direction as well. Then he took her right wrist and clicked one half of a silver handcuff ring onto it. He leaned over the bed and snapped the other circle of the handcuffs to the bottom of the metal frame.

“Moira, I’m Agent Aaron Hotchner, FBI, Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’d like to talk to you. Do you feel up to that? Would you like your counsel present while I question you?”

"Where’s Matthew? Where’s my husband?”

“Should we be looking for your husband? You were alone in your car.” 

“You have to find Matthew.”

“Was your husband with you in your car, Moira?” 

“No.”

“Did you leave him at home?” 

“Yes.”

“Do you think we’ll find him there?” 

“Yes.”

“Alive or dead?”

"I don’t understand the question.”

“Don’t you?” the young woman said from the other side of the room. 

“Don't let her fool you, Agent Hotchner. She doesn’t have any head injuries, or any sign of concussion. She’s dehydrated. She’s got a broken arm and a broken leg. Aside from that, I’d say she’ll be on her feet in a week or two.”

“Where’s Matthew?” Moira asked. Agent Hotchner raised a brow at her and gave another feral smile.

“Don’t worry. We have Dr. Reid. He's alive and doing well.” 

“I was asking you about my husband Matthew.”

“I said Dr. Reid is fine. Aren’t you happy to know he’s alive? Or are you merely surprised?”

“I don’t know who or what is going on here, but…”

“You see, the barbiturate injection you gave Dr. Reid was close, so close, but not quite enough, for which you should be thanking your lucky stars. Because if you had killed him, and if we had found his dead body as you had planned, well, then you too would have been dead, Moira.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you? You injected Dr. Reid with what you assumed would be a drug overdose, and you went to work with your overnight bag in the trunk of your car. You probably peeked in on him before you left the house. There he was, lying in the guest room bed, still as death. You didn’t check his pulse. He wasn’t moving. You were in a hurry. You were excited. You were making a fresh start. He was beginning to remember his other life, and you were ready for the challenge of someone new.”

Moira didn’t have much to say. Agent Hotchner continued.

“The injection you gave Dr. Reid wasn't enough to kill him. He woke up later in the day, and he was worried when he discovered that you hadn’t come home. He waited all night for you, sleeping off and on, groggy and lethargic, but not dead as you had hoped. The next day when you still hadn’t returned home by evening, he got dressed, left the house, and went to the police station. He reported you missing because he was worried about you.”

Moira’s hazel eyes grew wide, either with fear or dread.

“That’s right, Moira. Dr. Reid went to the police and reported you missing. The police very diligently started a state-wide search for you, and at the same time, they ran Dr. Reid’s fingerprints through the system. They found out who Dr. Reid was, and needless to say, they called in the FBI. The state troopers located you outside of Winston-Salem—you and your overturned car and a dead deer and your overnight bag. So, that’s it in a nutshell. You are in Carteret General Hospital, recovering from your injuries sustained in your escape attempt. Any other questions I can clear up for you?"

“I’ll see if Tomcat and Peg are around. I’m sure they have a few questions too,” the young doctor said, disappearing from the room. Moira looked at Agent Hotchner. The dark-haired man’s feral smile grew slightly larger.

“What’s so fucking funny?” Moira growled at him.

“You owe your life to the man you tried to kill. Isn’t there any part of you that can appreciate the irony of that?”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll find it very funny someday when I look back on all this.”

“Would you like to talk to me, Moira? Would you like to tell me about Matthew McPherson?”

“You want me to tell you about Dr. Reid?”

“No, I want you to tell me about the real Matthew McPherson, what he means to you, why you’ve spent the better part of fifteen years trying to recreate him, trying to dominate him, and then destroying him over and over and over again. What did the real Matthew McPherson do to you that you love him so strongly and hate him so badly?”

“I want my lawyer. I’m not talking to you anymore," Moira said tearfully.

“I will find out, you know. Either you’ll tell me, or I’ll learn another way. It’s what I do. I dig for the truth. I uncover secrets. I expose lies. I bring killers to justice. That's what you are, Moira. You're a killer. I can put my hands inside your heart and pull your demons into the light. Is Matthew McPherson your demon? Do you want to exorcise him once and for all? Do you want to be free of him? Let me help you."

Moira closed her eyes and ignored the tears that welled up, spilling down her face.

“Mrs. McPherson, I can help you. I can ease your pain. But you have to help me. You have to talk to me. I can only ease your pain if you talk to me. It will help. I promise it will. All you have to do is open your heart and talk to me, and I can help you free yourself of Matthew once and for all. Tell me about Matthew. Tell me where you met him. Tell me what he means to you. Tell me how he hurt you. Tell me why you want him dead."

"I don't want to talk about Matthew," Moira hissed angrily, rattling her handcuffs.

"Then explain why you took the man I love, and erased his mind, and tortured him until he believed he was the man who hurt you. Tell me why you wanted Matthew dead, and why you tried to kill Dr. Reid. Tell me what drove you to kill Jeremy Ferrell. Nicholas Johnson. Mark Morrisey. Evan Davidson."

Moira turned her face towards the wall and said no more. She looked towards the door moving only her eyes and without moving her face. Outside the reinforced window, she could see a pair of hazel eyes and close-cropped sandy hair, a sad face, and a pale frown. The young man moved out of sight when their eyes met. It was finally over. Matthew was gone forever. Moira felt her world shrivel like ash and crumble away into nothing.


	12. Chapter 12

Epilogue

 

Hotch leapt out of the elevators and came striding across the bullpen, briefcase in hand, smile on his face, cup of coffee in hand.

“Case in the conference room!” JJ called out, darting out of Hotch’s office and clacking her heels towards the room at the end of the raised platform. “Hotch, your office mate is being weird again.”

“You get out of my office and quit bothering him,” Hotch called back to her playfully.

“Where the hell have you been?” Prentiss whispered, jumping up from her chair and falling in step behind Hotch.

"Was Strauss all over your ass again? Is that why you’re so late?” Morgan asked, falling in as well and passing Hotch on the steps.

“Does it show?” Hotch asked. “Scratches? Teeth impressions? Bite marks? Defense wounds?”

“Why does she hate your guts?” Prentiss asked.

“She doesn’t hate my guts. She hates every last bit of me,” Hotch grinned. 

“What took so long?” Morgan asked.

“I did it. I got Reid reinstated,” Hotch whispered. They all gaped at him in disbelief, and stopped in their tracks. He danced around them, headed for his office.

“It’s only been six months. He hasn’t passed his physical test. He hasn’t passed his psychology test. But you got his credentials back?” Torgeson said, stopping Hotch by getting in front of him. “How did you do it? Do you have naked pictures of Strauss? Of Ferguson?”

"Of Strauss and Ferguson?” Prentiss wondered.

“Dr. Reid has been reinstated in a consulting capacity only. He can travel with the team, but he isn’t allowed to carry a sidearm. He is there to advise us on any topic we may require of him, but he is not allowed to accompany the team on raids, while serving warrants, or when conducting interviews with any unsub which I deem is too dangerous to be allowed near him. He’s going to be busy relearning our cases one at a time, but at 20,000 words a minute, that’s not going to take long,” Hotch had yet to stop smiling.

“Your knees must hurt from all that begging,” Rossi quipped. Hotch raised one dark brow.

“To say nothing of your back,” Prentiss smiled widely. Hotch was frowning now.

“Rossi? Prentiss? Piss off. BAU team, to the conference room, now,”

Hotch growled, motioning them all to get out of his sight. “Morgan, get Garcia up here from her lair, would you?”

"Will do," Morgan laughed.

Hotch vanished into his office and closed the door. Not just his office. It had been divided in two almost three months ago, but instead of feeling smaller, the office felt so much larger with the addition of another desk, another chair, and stacks and stacks of books. The large leather couch had been pushed against the far wall under the windows. It got the occasional late night workout after the rest of the team had gone home for the evening. The bike was gone. Most of the files were gone too, having been digitized by Garcia in an effort to modernize as much as was allowed.

Even before he had been officially reinstated, Reid had been allowed back to the Bureau as part of his on-going therapy and the reclamation of his former life. He had been content to stay behind a desk and read. Read more. Read even more than that. There were so many books that it was hard to find the figure sitting at the desk. His frazzled sandy curls were down in his eyes again. He was in mouse-gray trousers and a black sweater vest. Big black and white sneakers were under the desk. A sharp red tie ran down his chest to his thin waist. Hotch approached and offered the cup of coffee, pushing aside perched periodicals and back-folded file folders in order to find the spindly fingers to slip the cup in. His eyes travelled across the blood-bath of crime photos and he frowned with concern.

“I could have sworn you were in my bed last night when I went to sleep, but you were gone this morning when I woke up,” Hotch said.

“I came in at four. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to wake you or Jack,” Reid answered. He looked up, took a long drink, and his big brown eyes crinkled with amusement. “I heard you out there. No field work. No raids. No warrants. No interviews with uber-creepy unsubs. Any other restrictions I should know about before I break every one?”

“No, Strauss agreed to a surprisingly-short list. But you will adhere to the rules. Is that clear?” Hotch replied, tossing Reid his badge.

“Yes, sir,” Reid smiled. He stroked the badge happily before he put it in his inside jacket pocket. “So, who do I have to fuck to get my gun back?” Reid wanted to know. Hotch blanched and coughed up a quick snort. Reid’s therapist had confirmed that part of the lasting neurological damage Moira McPherson had caused was a disconnect in the part of Reid’s brain that controlled certain impulses, including the impulse to say and do shocking and inappropriate things at exactly the wrong time and place. So far nervous amusement had been the only fall-out from Reid's uncontrolled outbursts. So far.

“Me, I guess,” Hotch replied to the off-hand comment.

“Now you’re talking! Do you want me right here?” Reid grinned, putting down his coffee and reaching for his tie.

“Reid?! We talked about this. Not during office hours,” Hotch scolded. 

“Awwwh,” Spencer pouted.

"Grab your shit and get to the conference room. Now.”

“Spoil sport,” Spencer murmured, picking up his coffee again. “Thank you. I don’t know what you had to promise Strauss, but thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Garcia. Whatever she found on Strauss was big enough that all I had to do was give Erin that folder, and the world was mine for the asking.”

“Did you look inside the folder?”

“No. Garcia expressly forbid me to look into the folder.” 

“Did you keep the folder?”

“No. I gave it to Strauss like Garcia said.” 

“Where did Strauss put the file?”

“She lit it on fire and threw it in the trash.”

“Mmmm….” Reid purred, eyes blazing with curiosity. “It’s not entirely impossible to reconstruct burned documents.”

“Spencer, let it go. We have work to do. Come on. JJ is waiting, and we do not keep JJ waiting.”

“Is Agent Jareau a closet Trekkie?” Spencer asked, straightening Hotch’s tie for him.

“Why do you ask?”

“Every time she sees me, she brings up Star Trek. It’s like ALL she wants to talk about.”

Hotch set down his briefcase in his chair and shook his head, grinning to himself.

“Oh. I get it. I’m the closet Trekkie, and no one has told me, because you don’t want to hear ME talk about it,” Reid nodded, reaching for the handle to Hotch’s office door. "You all have got to stop with that. I told you before that I wanted the truth-- the good, the bad, and the ugly.”

Was it wrong of Hotch to like the small bits of syntax from the Carolinas that had crept into Reid’s vocabulary?

“This is like the fuzzy handcuffs under the bed, isn’t it? One of those things everyone else knows about but you don’t think you need to explain to me?” Reid asked Hotch as they stepped out onto the raised platform and nearly collided with Garcia.

Penelope smiled sideways, tucking her folders closer to her massive chest, and pushing her glasses back up her nose.

“Fuzzy handcuffs?” she perked up.

“Garcia, thanks for the file on Strauss. I am forever in your debt,” Hotch said.

“Fuzzy handcuffs?” Garcia repeated. Hotch lowered his chin and stared her hard in the face. Her smile trembled.

“Guess I shouldn’t mention the spreader bar either, hmm?” Reid whispered between them before sauntering towards the conference room. Garcia was smiling again. Hotch wasn’t.

“I didn’t hear that,” Penelope said.

“No, you didn’t.,” Hotch confirmed.

“How are things with you and him and … um…. no delicate way to ask….”

“His therapist said I need to reassure him that wanting sex is normal and healthy. He needs a lot of reassurance," Hotch sighed happily.

“It’s good to have him back, isn’t it?” she asked tearfully.

“Yes, it is,” Hotch nodded, his smile returning along with the heavenly glow of love in his eyes. Reid was glancing back over one shoulder, and when he caught Hotch’s expression, he returned the look ten-fold with nothing more than a bright flash of a smile and a quick wink.

“So what’s the Bureau’s policy on fraternization between SAIC’s and agents working in a consulting capacity?” Garcia whispered to Hotch.

“I haven’t got a clue,” Aaron replied. "I haven't seen one, actually." 

“We could write one,” Penelope suggested.

“Could we?”

“Oh, honey, could we ever!” Garcia nodded eagerly. “What's this?”

“This is my way of saying thank you. I know you'd dig up dirt on Strauss for free, but I think you should be rewarded for your creativity and resourcefulness,” Hotch said, producing a shiny, beautiful, golden gift card out of his sleeve and giving it to Penelope. Garcia’s eyes lit up brightly.

“Whatever you need, my liege, my fingers and I are at your service. You wish is our command. What would you like in that policy, sir?”

“Nothing flashy. Nothing unusual.” 

“Got it.”

“Can you do it by five?”

“I can do it by noon,” Penelope promised, tucking the golden gift card down her ample cleavage. Hotch couldn't help but watch. In fact, he could barely pull his eyes away. When he could meet Garcia's eyes again,

Hotch babbled happily at her.

“I love you, Penelope Garcia, in a very platonic manner. This does not in any way reflect on your voluptuous attractiveness, but instead on the fact that I’m already spoken for, and he's a very jealous sort.”

“Likewise, Hotchness,” Garcia mused, giving Aaron a small bump with her hip before heading towards the conference room where the entire team was waiting, for the first time in three years.


End file.
